


Blue Moon

by deathboy



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Child Neglect - Denbrough Parents., Disability, Dyslexic!Richie, F/F, Fluff, Hard of Hearing!Bill, M/M, Mentions of Cancer -- Brain Tumor, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-07 09:20:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14077761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathboy/pseuds/deathboy
Summary: Bill is tired. He’s tired of feeling like he’s nothing more than a walking-attraction for pathetic sympathy and he’s tired of feeling trapped and isolated in his own life. He’s tired of the blissful ignorance shedding off people near him, making his life impeccably more difficult. And he’s tired of the way his life doesn’t feel like something for him to claim; it feels more like a shitty sitcom with an outcast struggling to get a place in the world.So when Richie Tozier,  blissfully unaware of Bill’s disability, comes strolling by, Bill can’t help but to get swept along with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a self-indulgent chaptered fic that i have decided to take upon myself. i love bichie and as a hard of hearing person, i just want to see a character represented with my disability! with that being said, all depictions of bill's behaviours and scenarios regarding his disabilities are ((most-likely)) based off of personal experiences and are just self-projections.  
> thank you! don't forget to leave kudos/comments if you enjoy!

There were two things that Bill Denbrough truly hated. One was bananas and the other was the frequent visits to the hearing clinic. They weren’t particularly bad things - bananas were filled with potassium and his mother’s consistent whines to just eat them and the frequent visits got him out of other responsibilities. Besides, being trapped in a dark confinement with only the voice of the monotone recording filling your ears was a situation that Bill felt more than accustomed to. He hated it simply because of the reason _why_ he was there.

He was hard of hearing.  Severely in the left, profoundly in the right.

It wasn’t something that he should be ashamed of, per se. It was a part of his identity: Bill Denbrough, the Deaf kid. His stomach lurched at the thought. He hated being reduced to the same level of his hearing: barely existent. He hated the way the sound of the world didn’t feel right and he hated the way his voice sounded so different from others; the nervous, psychosomatic stutter on top of the slurred lisp was enough to make Bill want to shut up forever. He hated the headache that always formulated by the nighttime and he hated the dial-up of his hearing aids.

Everything that embodied his disability fell under the category of the second thing he hated most.

So when the audiologist snapped his name, startling him out of his spiralling thoughts, Bill couldn’t help but to unclip the band of his medical bracelet. It sat uncomfortably on his wrist, branding him with another physicality of his disability. ‘ _Medical Alert: Hearing Impaired_ ’. Hearing impaired, as if he was too impaired to do anything. Too impaired to be a being. Just too impaired, unable, invaluable-

“William.” The audiologist, Cindy’s, voice was separated, desperate to catch his attention. Bill gave her a sheepish smile before shaking his head, willing himself to fully pay attention to her. He focused his attention on her, making sure to catch every syllable of her words. She was an older woman, the transition of her light brown hair to grey beginning to settle in the roots. Her body seemed worn from countless years and endless levels of stress but the way she carried herself radiated an aura of She stood in the doorway of the testing booth, making Bill turn his body to face her.

“Sorry, I’m listening.” She smiled at him before glancing down at her clipboard, pressing her finger against the plastic of her thin frames. She cleared her throat, eyes scanning over the sheets and fingers before looking back up at Bill once more.

“So, nothing’s entirely out of the new. Your hearing is relatively the same but your speech processing ability seems to have dropped a little more from last time. I want to book another appointment when you’re available - is that okay with you?” Bill nodded, fiddling with his bracelet as he scanned the room. He knew he didn’t really have a choice; this was the part of his life where he merely co-existed and lived in the fragments of paperwork. When Cindy handed him the piece of paper with his next appointment date, he couldn’t help but to wince. It was booked for the next week, a shy six days away. Bill could sense the screaming and yelling from his father that was sure to come.

“Thank you, Cindy.” He rose from his chair and gave her a half-hearted grin as she patted his shoulder on the way out. He raised a hand to rub across his forehead as he maneuvered his way out of the building. This was the hardest part of the appointment; letting everything finally settle in. Tears burned at the back of his eyes as he gave a feigned smile to the secretary as he pushed open the front doors.

_It was happening. Bill was finally beginning to lose his hearing._

He brushed his hand across his cheek to brush away a stray tear, not daring to let his father know that he was crying. Bill glanced down at the unclasped medical alert bracelet resting in his palm and shoved it into his pocket, beginning to walk towards his father’s truck. It was a concern that he’d leave for later. 

x.

“So nice of you to join us, Mr. Denbrough.” Bill winced as he froze in his spot, hand clutched onto the doorknob. He had attempted to sneak into his Advanced Literature class without being caught but with the fiery gaze of his teacher placed on him, Bill knew he didn’t succeed. He glanced over to the teacher with a grimace, his free hand holding up a note. The teacher, Mr. Aquilo, rolled his eyes before turning back to the board and continuing on with his lesson. Bill let out a soft sigh before scattering towards his desk, cheeks still inflamed.

“We’re working on Gatsby.” Bill looked over to see his best friend, Stanley Uris, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Bill gave a soft grin as he pulled his notebook and his copy of ‘The Great Gatsby’ out of his backpack. Stan reached over to pat Bill gently on his arm before turning back to face the board, scribbling down his notes with an elegant movement. Bill sighed gently before opening up his notebook, pretending to get the notes down. He’d retrieve them from Stan later.

“O! But how can Gatsby be great if all he is is a whiny little bitch who's thirsty for Daisy?” A loud voice interjected across the classroom, making Bill raise his head in confusion. He didn’t hear what the person said but based on their tone and the followed snickers, it would have to be something amusing. He quickly glanced over to Stan who shrugged, his lip curled downwards. Bill looked up to see the teacher pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his other hand resting on his hip.

“Mr. Tozier, I am aware that it is your first day and you want to be comedic but this is not the class to do so. If you have any issues with that, take it up with the principal, am I clear?”

“You’re clear but..” Bill looked across the classroom to spot the owner of the voice; a boy with his legs kicked up onto the desk and his arms folded over his chest. He had wildly curly black hair and thick glasses that looked slightly crooked. Bill raised his arm to rest his cheek on his hand, his elbow digging into the edge of the desk painfully. “But I just don’t think I _care_.”  Bill couldn’t stop the choked laughter that slipped from his lips, muffled by him turning his face to have his fist cover his mouth. He glanced over at Stan once more with a raised eyebrow and leaned over when Stan gestured for him to lean over.

“Richard Tozier -- prefers to be called Richie, though. Switched here from somewhere in Cali or whatnot and is currently-”

“Stanley, stop talking!” Mr. Aquilo snapped, causing a deep blush to form at the bottom of Stan’s neck. He shifted his attention from the new kid over to Stan, evidently annoyed with any sort of misdemeanour in his classroom.  Bill gave him a sympathetic smile before raising his hand. The teacher gave an exasperated sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated with his lack of control over the classroom. He raised a finger to point at Bill, allowing the boy to speak.

“I apologize for interrupting y-your class but it’s not S-Stan’s fault. I was as-sking a question and he was an-answering it.” Bill clenched his fist at the sound of his lisp slipping through, mixed with his stutter. Despite his constant speech therapy appointments and the minimization of his stutter, it seemed to reappear whenever he was nervous or unsettled. The teacher sighed once more before waving his hand, dismissing Bill’s words and his attitude towards Stan. He turned back to the board and continued on with his lecture, falling deaf on Bill’s ears. Bill didn’t blame the older man, really.  Even though Bill had been a student of his for three years, Mr. Aquilo could never learn just how to accommodate his disability. He never spoke up, even after Bill would relentless beg him to do so. He’d never give Bill the notes, claiming that “you should just move closer to me” whenever Bill told him he didn’t hear what was said in the class. Bill glanced down at his blank notebook before looking up at the board. The notes were scrawled down, explained by a droning sound that Bill couldn’t decipher. And Bill got accustomed to this; living in a world where he was shoved off to the side like an outcast.

When the bell rang, Bill couldn’t have felt more grateful.

He and Stan clunked shoulders as they squeezed through the doorway together, Stan clutching onto his textbooks and Bill holding the strap of his backpack thrown over his left shoulder. The chatter of the rest of their classmates muffled Stan’s words slightly but before Bill could ask, Stan rose the level of his voice.  Stan already started explaining how the beginning of the class had been a shit-show with the new kid sauntering in and demanding attention. They quickly maneuvered through the hallway, avoiding the loud mass of students that shoved past them. Bill gave a sympathetic grin when they reached Stan’s locker, guilt rising in his stomach at Stan’s annoyed expression. Stan shook his head, the curls bouncing against his forehead in an almost flawless manner. Bill frowned momentarily, hand raising to tug at the beanie covering his own head.  Jealousy burned at the pit of his stomach; his best friend could be considered a ten while Bill himself felt as if he was sitting at a five.

“He’s so- Argh!” Stan cut himself off with a loud groan, slamming his hand against his locker. Bill chuckled as he leaned against the locker next to Stan’s, his arms folded over his chest. He dismissed all thoughts of jealousy as he rose an eyebrow at Stan’s rambling.  Stan explained how the kid walked in and shouted ‘sup you little shits’ and how he sunk down in the closet seat and kicked his feet up immediately. Bill smirked at the image, completed by the memory of Stan’s face scrunched up with disbelief and disgust.

“Seems to me like you’ve got a crush on the new kid.” Stan whipped around with narrowed eyes, a high-pitched scoff filling the air between them. Bill let out a loud laugh, shaking his head in amusement at the offended look plastered over Stan’s features.  He reached out to ruffle his friend’s composed head of curls, ignoring the discontent whine that followed shortly after. “C’mon, I k-know you’re not into that. And he’s not your ty-ype.”

“Oh yeah, Love Matcher? What’s my type?” Stan teased as he closed his locker, the textbooks for his next class sitting in his arms as he stared at Bill with an amused smirk. Bill rolled his eyes before looking down at his phone with a displeased expression before shoving it back into his pocket. He didn’t even bother responding to his father’s message -- one informing him he was to pick up George from school and make dinner for the two of them because both of his parents would be out until later into the night.

“I do know you’ve got a thing for troublemakers-” Stan pushed open the side door to outside, knocking Bill’s shoulder as he spoke knowingly. They began walking towards Stan’s next class across the campus, inside one of the newer portables. The cool air began to nip at Bill’s bare arms but he didn’t mind, his gaze focused on Stan’s features. Stan was always aesthetically pleasing to look at;  his cheeks pale but always consistent with the blush of the cold air of Derry’s winters, his nose and chin angular but not too sharp. Stan’s lips were a soft pink and plump, often stretched into a thin line and they’d always perfectly form the words that he needed to see. Bill grinned at the familiar sight of his best friend’s smile, a curl of the lip that could still movement in any room. Stan wasn’t much of a smiler in the presence of others but when it was just him and Bill, he was nothing but.  When Stan’s smile dropped and curled into a disapproving grin, Bill quickly followed his gaze. He found Stan glaring at the new kid, most likely annoyed with him smoking on school property. His arms were outstretched and his laughter could be heard from where Bill was standing -- loud and unashamed. He was standing next to Beverly Marsh, the first girl that Bill had ever found himself to be mystified by. She also had a cigarette between her lips, barely held by her toothy grin. “- and smokers.”

“That was back in seven-t-th grade, leave me alone.” He glanced back at the pair smoking before looking back at Stan, catching the side of his face. He caught Stan’s amused grin with an amused raise of his eyebrow.  

“Oh, yeah? So the cast party? I’m pretty sure that was tenth grade, not seventh.”  Bill groaned at the memories. There was a time period where he and Stan were active in the school’s theatre program, both of them remaining behind the scenes. Truthfully, Bill only joined to get the extra credit but when his best friend and ex-girlfriend showed up, he took a little more enjoyment to it. And the year-end party, hosted by a cast member just on the brink of nineteen years old, contained a little too much alcohol and a little too many hormones for Bill to control.

“Honestly getting hella attacked here!” Bill whined, grinning at Stan as he watched his best friend turn to face him. Stan grinned and reached out to shove Bill’s shoulder lightly before moving away towards the door of the portable. Bill gave a quick wave before turning around, ignoring Stan’s holler of ‘ _you know I’m right_!’ He looked up to the sky and gave a soft huff of air that mirrored a chuckle. He glanced back over at Beverly and Richie, studying their expressions as he slowly made his way back towards the doors. He kept his eyes on the pair, studying their expressions with a tinge of jealousy.

Today was Richie’s first day - how in the loving fuck was he able to make a friend so quickly?  Especially Beverly Marsh, the one known for being the definition of edgy and daddy issues?

‘ _Don’t say that,_ ’ Bill scolded himself as he shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the pair to grab out his phone.  He pursed his lips at the unread messages from his father and Stan, dreading the former.

 

**Dad** : you’re picking up George.

[sent 11.27 am]

 

**Dad** : and don’t forget to make dinner.

[sent 11.42 am]

 

**Dad** : your mother and i will both be working late.

[sent 11.43 am]

 

**Dad** : what is the point of having a phone if you won’t answer me?

[sent 12.11 pm]

 

**Dad** : also you owe me 30 bucks for gas. I don’t have the money to drive you everywhere.

[sent 12.13 pm]

 

Bill ran a hand over his face, ignoring the emotions that stirred in the pit of his stomach. He glanced at the clock at the top of his phone and cursed loudly, knowing he’d be missing his last two classes. It was a normal occurrence; his parents would often be too busy to care for their two sons, leaving Bill to take care of himself and his younger brother, George. Bill often didn’t mind but when report cards filled with ‘F’s and letters filled with threats of suspension from the baseball team rolled in, it was a little tough to manage. He quickly shook off his feelings of annoyance before switching over to Stan’s text, the ghost of a smile hinting at his features.

 

**Stan** : Hey, I forgot to give you my notes. Swing by your place later?

[sent 12.11 pm]

 

**Bill** : door’s open. it’s just g and i tonight

[sent 12.18 pm]

 

Bill dropped his phone into his pocket before sliding his backpack to the ground, kneeling in the centre of the hallway. He looked up quickly to spot the hallways bare, the odd lingering student off in the distance. He quickly pulled out his headphones and adjusted them over his beanie, pressing uncomfortably against his hearing aids. It was the quickest way for Bill to get around; the blame of not responding to calls of his name shifting over to the feigned blare of music that supposedly rang through his ears. He shoved the end of the cord into his back pocket and slipped his backpack over his shoulder, forgetting to zip up the bag. He already started to storm down the hallway, the sound of his worn sneakers echoing in the hall. He pulled out his phone quickly to check the time, cursing once again when he saw it was nearing 12:30 P.M.

Georgie’s school was over an hour walk away, ending just shy of an hour before Bill’s did. If Bill was lucky, he’d be able to get to make it to the sore to pick up George's daily coffee and be there with a shy five minutes to spare. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and moved even more quickly.  

“Hold up, firecracker!” A voice shouted from across the hall, unknown to Bill.  The owner of the voice scoffed in confusion before taking up a light jog to reach Bill. Once they reached them, they yanked on Bill’s backpack,  causing him to shriek and stumble backwards in shock. He twirled around, hand clutched on the strap with a bewildered expression clear on his face. In front of him stood the new kid, - Richie, Bill remembered - holding onto Bill’s notebook. Bill pulled the headphone covering his left ear off, tilting his head slightly.

“Your bag is open.” Bill's cheeks darkened as Richie grinned,  moving to shove the notebook into Bill's bag, quickly zipping it up before patting Bill's shoulder. He moved to stand in front of Bill once more and gave a quick wave, two fingers mimicking a salute. Before Bill could respond with a ‘thank you’ or a smile, Richie was already moving down the hallway.

“See you around, Mister Denbrough!” Richie called from his spot, causing Bill to shake his head with disbelief. He chuckled lightly at the sight of Richie sauntering down the hall, demanding attention simply by existing. He was fitted in a pair of black jeans but the brightness of neon triangles across his jacket really set him apart. Bill pursed his lips, the corner twitching upwards before he began to venture in the opposite direction, mentally rolling his eyes at Richie Tozier.

x. 

It didn’t take long for Stan to arrive, only a shy twenty minutes after George and Bill stumbled their way through the doors. They were situated at the kitchen table, a plate of nachos sitting on the space between them with both of their homework sprawled out across every edge. George tapped Bill’s textbook,  catching the older boy’s attention quickly.

“Stan’s here,” George mouthed when Bill looked up, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion . Bill nodded and looked back down at his work, knowing that Stan would immediately come into the dining room. It was a common occurrence; Bill would let Stan complete his ritual of locking (and unlocking) the door six times without interruption and Stan would later remind Bill to take out his hearing aids. They existed on another level of friendship, existing as each other’s grounders and reasons to be. Bill looked up to see Stan quietly walking in, a soft smile on his face as George began rambling off a story to Stan. He gave a quick wave, turning his gaze back to his papers. A sharp pain began to formulate in front of his right ear, causing Bill to rub at the skin tentatively.  He didn’t want to admit it but he knew the daily headache was beginning to settle in, courtesy to the excessive amount of stress his body had to undergo to support his disability. He let his eyes fall shut and rubbed at them, hoping to pass off his growing headache as exhaustion.

“Right, Billy?”

“Hm?” Bill looked up, moving his hand to fiddle with the patch of hair sticking out from his beanie. George stared at him expectantly, his head tilted and the slight fringe falling into his eyes.

“Georgie was saying how you were going to go to the parent-teacher meeting next week,” Stan clarified, his hands resting on the back of George’s chair as he leaned slightly over. Bill hummed in response, nodding before turning his gaze back to his homework. He couldn’t will himself to focus on the words anymore, the soft lull of George and Stan’s quiet voices beginning to feel like daggers against his eardrums. He closed his eyes once again, rubbing at his temples gently. He only opened them once again when he felt Stan’s slim fingers tap against his jaw, willing him to look up. He looked directly up to the ceiling to see Stan standing over his chair, holding two pills between his thumb and index finger.

“Take them out, Bill. Take these and rest. I’ll help George with his homework.”

“‘m fine, I can-”

“No, Bill.” Bill sighed and opened his mouth, lolling his tongue out and letting Stan drop the pills in. They landed on his tongue, the bitter taste of them dissolving already beginning to settle in. He grabbed the cup that George was holding towards him and gulped down the liquid quickly, scowling at the dissolved taste.

“It’s only six,” Bill muttered, pursing his lips in annoyance when Stan pulled off his beanie. "And we still haven't talked-"

“Headaches don’t give a shit what time it is. We'll talk about the appointment tomorrow.” Stan’s fingers began to run along in Bill’s hair, nails dragging along his scalp. Bill hummed softly, both hands moving to remove the hearing aids hidden beneath the mop of hair. Stan patted the top of Bill’s head once he saw the hearing aids be placed on the table and gave Bill a quick thumbs up with he saw the boy looking at him for approval. Bill flicked his head slightly, pushing the waves of auburn hair that threatened to fall into his eyes. He looked over at George and gave his younger brother a quick nod, thanks for the water.

_‘Glasses_?’ George signed, his hands moving as a form of communication.  Bill was quick to shake his head, hand raised to make a quick slicing motion in front of his neck. He saw George’s face change from wonder to confusion, masked with laughter. Bill ran a quick hand through his hair, rolling his eyes at just how messy he was. Bill tapped the corner of his eye and he could almost sense the loud ‘ohhhh’ that erupted from George.

Hearing aids and glasses. What a wonder.

Stan pulled up a chair to the other side of Bill, across the table. He placed his backpack on the table and pulled out his notes, sliding them towards Bill. When Bill stared at him in confusion, he gestured to the novel that Bill had out next to his own notebook.

‘ _Thank you,_ ’ Bill signed and Stan waved it off with a quick thumbs up, beginning to work on his own homework. Bill studied the interactions between the two boys across from him, filled with gestures to the papers in front of them and grins that were sure to be accompanied by laughter. Bill glanced down at his hearing aids, out and sprawled on the top of his notebook and quickly pushed them out of the way, smiling softly. The headache still throbbed against his skull but as the time passed, it slowly grew duller and the unheard conversations between Stan and George became less anxiety-inducing and more comforting. He hated not knowing what was being said but they felt safer; like a quiet place where only Bill could exist truly.

Despite the chaos that was a daily occurrence in his life, Bill felt the serenity of his small family consisting of only three people: himself, his best friend, and his little brother. But sometimes Bill wondered if it was just _too_ small.


	2. Ch. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bill's a walking disaster. friendly but still a walking disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for lateness! i've been kicked to smithereens with doctors and hospitals and exams -- oof! also this is completely unbeta'd so again, mistakes are my own! please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed!

Stanley Uris was a gift from the heavens if anyone was to ask the Denbrough brothers. He fitted himself perfectly into their duo, shifting the family into a trio. He was the parent-like figure that kept them in line while simultaneously helping them create chaotic messes they could attribute to their young age. Bill grinned at the concept, memories of Stan and George attempting to pull pranks on him flooding his mind.

“Bill.” Bill shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of the memory-world he had locked himself into. He gave Stan a quick smile, a gentle blush glazing his cheeks as he reached for his iced coffee. They were sitting in the local cafe while they waited for George's soccer practice to finish, textbooks and laptops opened as they attempted to work on their History assignment. Stan reached two fingers in the front of Bill’s laptop, snapping them to get Bill's gaze to raise upwards.

“You never did tell me what happened at your appointment yesterday.” Stan folded his laptop shut and shoved it into his bag, immediately folding his elbows to rest on the table. His hand curled his mocha, bringing it to his lips with a curious expression. Bill sighed, slamming his history textbook shut.

“So, we're not too s-sure what's happening yet. Another appointment has been b-booked but you know how Dad can be.” Stan pursed his lips as he took a slow sip of his drink, eyebrows furrowed as he stared intently at Bill.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Stan put his drink down and studied Bill’s expression. His best friend was never a good liar; the corner of his lip would twitch and the tips of his ears would flush a rosy pink. He watched as Bill ran his tongue over his lower lip, clearly debating if he wanted to tell Stan. It wasn’t a debate that Stan felt the urge to argue - Bill would always end up telling him.

“What we t- _think_ is happening is my speech pro-pr-processing is dropping more. Basically means that regardless of how loud someone’s talking or whether the environment is quiet or loud, I just won’t be able to understand them.” Bill sighed, dropping his head as he shifted his attention from Stan to the history textbook in front of him. The cover was plain - a photo of forgotten warriors were plastered onto the page, ‘History 12’ covered their poorly painted faces.

“You know I’m here, right?” Bill picked his head up and let out a confirming hum, not trusting his tongue to say the words he wanted to. Stan knew - Stan always knew what Bill wanted to say. And he knew just well enough when Bill was done talking. Stan sighed quietly before straightening his posture, a quick grin on his face. “Hey Billy, d’you mind if I come with you to George’s parent-teacher conference? George was telling me about this girl yesterday and he really wants me to see her.”

Bill looked up, tilting his head slightly in confusion. He had heard Stan’s voice but wasn’t sure of what was being said. Stan gave a reassuring smile before repeating himself, giving a quick quirk of the eyebrow as Bill coughed at the mention of a girl.

“He’s thirteen!”

“Oh, like you weren’t-”

“Leave me al-lone about that.” Bill dropped his head to cover his face, cheeks burning against his cold hands. He could hear Stan’s cackling, the haunted memory of his past troubling him. The whole reason that Stan found it so amusing that Bill liked Beverly is that he spent months beforehand trash-talking Beverly, sneering about how a girl like her could never reach the social status she was obviously so desperate to reach. And the moment she paid attention to him, he was whipped around her finger like an unbreakable string. He had apologized to her for his obvious shit-talking - she found it hilarious - but still, Stan held it against him and would never let him forget it. Ever.

“What did he say about her?” Bill asked, immediately changing the subject. His stutter often dissipated in the presence of his friends, the comfortable aura often making him focus less on his speech and more on just communicating. Stan just shook his head, his curls falling in front of his eyes as he grinned cheekily - a sign that he wasn’t going to tell Bill anything. Bill cursed at him, sticking out his tongue before a loud clattering noise caught his attention. He whipped around to the door, greeted by the sight of a forming trio: Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon, and Beverly Marsh.

Richie immediately caught Bill’s attention, his arm snug around Beverly’s shoulder. His grin easily stretched across his cheeks, reaching his eyes as a loud snort slipped from between his lips. Mike held the door open for an older couple that followed closely behind the trio, his eyes following his friends. Bill watched as they moved towards the till, Richie whining for Mike to hurry up so they could order.

Bill felt Stan’s fingers graze along his exposed forearm, a way of catching his attention. Bill slowly turned with a sheepish grin, a sign that anything that Stan had said had not been heard. Stan sighed, his shoulders slumping as an amused grin stretched across his face. Bill turned back to stare at the trio, eyes focusing on all their little features.

Michael Hanlon was built; years of working on a farm and playing football present in his frame. He stood just around 5’9, his head reaching just above Richie’s shoulder. His biceps were hugged by the tight black shirt he wore, a strap of his overalls undone. His face glowed, the fluorescent lights of the cafe bouncing off the sweat and his eyes shone with pure happiness. He bumped shoulders with Richie before beginning to order, his words sliding through a sweet grin.

Richard Tozier was the prime opposite of Mike, a pale boy who was too scraggly and most likely ate nothing but junk. He stood at an alarming height of 6’2, just two inches shy of being the same height as Bill. He was slinked around Beverly, his chin resting on the top of the girl’s head and his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Bill felt a tad bit of jealousy lurch in his stomach but he brushed it off to be just the lingering aspect of the childhood infatuation with Beverly. He was dressed in checkered skinny jeans, accompanied by a neon pink shirt that had black words across the front that Bill was unable to read. A prime walking disaster, if you will.

“If you keep staring, you’re going to burn holes into the back of their heads.” Stan poked fun, startling Bill out of his trance once again. Bill turned around with the tips of his ears pink as he glared at Stan light-heartedly. Stan stuck his tongue out slightly. Bill reached out to flick Stan’s cheek with his left hand, scoffing when Stan deterred the flick by moving back in his seat.

“Meanie,” Bill whined, sticking out his tongue and earning a laugh from his best friend.

“C’mon, let’s get to school. We’re gonna be late for English.” Stan began slipping his textbooks and laptop into his bag, ice coffee still clenched in his hand. Bill followed suit, just sliding his books into his bag and tossing it over his shoulder quickly. He began walking towards the exit, eyes still focused on Richie. He watched as the trio moved from the register over to the counter, engaged in a conversation that was entertaining enough to make them laugh loudly. Bill didn’t catch onto Stan’s shout of warning and crashed into the opening door, face hit by the force of the swing. Bill stumbled backwards, hands sprawled out behind him until he tripped over his feet and landed on his rear. His face flamed with embarrassment as he looked up to see everyone in the store staring at him, including the three standing at the counter. He felt embarrassment rise up his throat like bile, hands beginning to shake as the hearing aids began to squeal beneath the beanie. He looked over at Stan, holding both of their drinks, and knew that Stan understood. The person who opened the door knelt down at Bill’s side and began apologizing rapidly but Bill couldn’t hear it - the loud pitched noise of his dislodged hearing aids was consuming all of his hearing.

“C’mon, get up,” Stan whispered harshly, handing the drinks to the stranger. He helped Bill to his feet, thanked the stranger and apologized for Bill’s instance and shoved Bill’s drink into his hand. Bill pressed his hearing aids back into his ears completely.

“Let’s get going to English.” Bill nodded dumbly, looking down at his feet and refusing to even look in the same direction as Richie. He hated this - if he had just been paying attention, or even listening, he would not have made a complete fool of himself in front of an entire cafe. He pursed his lips as he followed behind Stanley, rerunning the situation over and over in his mind.

“You’re fine,” Stanley reassured, his hand patting Bill’s shoulder sympathetically. Bill gave a gentle grin in response, his face mimicking one of a distasteful woman in a painting. Stan chuckled and squeezed the shoulder before dropping his hand. “You always are, Billy.”

  
X.

 

  
“William, if you’re not going to pay attention in my class, you might as well not be here at all!” Bill picked his head up at the sound of a stern shout being aimed in his direction, cheeks already beginning to flush with embarrassment. He nodded his head quickly, the gaze of his teacher’s unhappy eyes burning into his own. He knew the teacher was right this time; his attention had been entirely focused on the doodles he had put on the edge of his notebook, the lecture too dry and monotone for him to properly understand him. Mr. Aquilo turned back to the board before clearing his throat, rasping his knuckles against the whiteboard.

“Your partners are listed here.” Bill looked up and narrowed his eyes, the slight off-put location of his contacts making it difficult to fully read the fine print reading. He glanced over to Stan who just raised a finger to point at a boy who sat in the far left corner of their classroom, flicking his pointer finger between Bill and the boy. “As soon as I say go, get into your pairs and discuss the terms of your project. Go.” Bill immediately scrambled to his feet, picking up his bag and notebook to move towards the mentioned boy. He glanced over at Richie who was now throwing an arm around Stan, eyes gleaming with amusement as Stan crossed his arms and rolled his eyes in a friendly manner. Bill sat on the desk in front of the boy and crossed his arms with a quick twitch of a smile.  
  
“Nice to see ya’, Benja-j-jamin.” Bill grinned wider when Ben shook his head, returning the grin with a gentle look in his eyes. Benjamin Hanscom was a well-known loner, that much Bill knew. He was often found in the corner of the school library, face shoved into a poetry or romance novel and earbuds shoved deeply into his ears. It wasn’t that he was a terrible person; it was that the bigoted bullies made him their target the first day in Derry. He socially withdrew, the halls of Derry High too dangerous for him to feel safe talking to anyone. And Bill always felt guilty whenever he saw Ben by himself, too scared to begin the conversation or interrupt him.

“What are you thinking?” Ben asked, his voice soft as he glanced down at his notes before looking back up at Bill. “Is Gatsby truly great?”

“I-I-I’ll be honest, I haven’t read the book.” He gave a sheepish grin with Ben stared at him unfazed, shrugging his shoulders and holding his hands up in a surrendering motion. Ben tipped the end of his pencil into his mouth, teeth grazing along the white eraser as he looked back down at his notes. Bill began to feel awkward, his inability to focus on schoolwork outside of school finally beginning to bite him in the ass. Ben finally looked back up and grinned, twirling the notebook around so Bill could easily read the notes.

“Aquilo’s coming, just pretend you’re doing something.” Bill instantly leaned over, eyes scanning over Ben’s colour-coded notes with scratchy printing. Ben leaned over, pretending to point at something as Bill softly said the words, the sounds barely slipping through his mouth. The teacher came up beside him and grabbed the notebook away from the two boys, holding it up to his chest so neither of them could read the notes. He specifically turned to glower at Bill, an evil smirk tugging at the corner of his thin lips.  
  
“So, Bill. What do you think?” Bill’s eyes flickered over to his new friend, mouth slightly open as he reached down to his shorts and began to play with the frayed strings. Mr. Aquilo was staring at him like he just caught him in at a dead end, unwillingly having to admit defeat. “Is Gatsby truly great?”

“No,” Bill began, his mind filtering through the notes he quickly briefed through and the minor bits of detail he had picked up through Stanley and the class discussions. It wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy Mr. Aquilo’s need for excessively long answers but Bill figured, as a writer, he could definitely pull it off. “Because h-h-he’s too human.”

The teacher stared at him blankly, grip on the notepad faltering as his face twisted in confusion as he glanced over at Ben with a raised eyebrow. Bill took a deep breath and focused on the words coming out to make sure there was no lisp or stutter. He really wanted to make his teacher look like a fool, caught in the wrong for once in his life. Bill quickly looked at Ben who was staring down at his desk with an amused grin, his lower lip pulled between his teeth to stop himself from giggling. Bill looked back up at his teacher and smiled softly, a friendly grin to remind him that this was just English class and Bill was just another kid. “Look, sir. I don’t think Gatsby is great because he’s too flawed; he’s a reminder of why we shouldn’t let relentless admiration and determination consume us. He’s too fascinated with the idea of love.”

“You make some excellent points, Mr. Denbrough,” the teacher said through gritted teeth. “But you’re wrong; Gatsby is great.”

“Sir, you can’t say he’s wrong,” Ben piped up, his cheeks flushing with the embarrassment of contradicting a teacher. “The project is entirely opinions based on the work. Bill’s not wrong - he just has a different opinion.” Ben’s voice was quiet, his nail of his thumb caught between his teeth due to nervousness. Bill nodded happily, his hand gesturing towards Ben with the excitement of disproving the teacher. Pride began to bubble in his chest. He countered his teacher’s argument and Ben had defended him, despite both of them knowing Bill knew almost nothing about the concept of the book.

“Keep working on the project.” Mr. Aquilo slammed the notebook on Ben’s desk, hard enough to rise heads and make them look in the direction of Bill and Ben. Bill glanced over at Stan who gave him a quick thumbs up, followed by Richie ruffling his hair overenthusiastically. Bill laughed as Stan scowled, his eyes noticeably filled with annoyance as he whipped around to face Richie once more. Bill slid down into the seat of the desk, his chest pressed against the back of the chair as he rested his elbows on Ben’s desk. He tucked a hand under his chin and stared at Ben who in turn was staring at his notes.

“Wu-What do you th-i-ink?” Bill asked quietly, his nerves beginning to rise in his chest once again. It wasn’t because of Ben, really, it was more so of what Ben would think of him. He was scared; the fear of being seen as less than an adequate person enough to hinder his ability to socially interact. Judging from the way that Ben was looking at him, the boy would never be judgemental in that way but Bill still couldn’t help to feel the little burn of fear in the pit of his stomach. Ben shrugged, folding his arms over each other on the top of his desk and leaning forward. He opened his mouth slightly before clamping it shut, shrugging his shoulders once again.

“He’s a sad man.” Ben’s answer was quick and concise, the tone soft yet unwavering. Bill stared at him momentarily before grinning, nodding in agreement. He already liked Ben, despite their limited time together. Bill began drumming his fingers against the side of his face, still looking down at the notes present.

“Wh-What’s life like for yo-you, Hanscom?” Bill asked, hoping to shift the topic off of Gatsby. Although he had only actually spoken to Ben for a short period of time, he found the boy intriguing. Ben Hanscom, although image tainted by the bigoted, was one of the biggest sweethearts around. He was the type of person to feed the last of his meals to a stranger or give his jacket to a shivering child.

“It's good right now,” Ben replied with a sweet smile. He abandoned the notebook in front of him to look at Bill, a gleam of admiration flickering in his eyes. Bill was not popular by any means but he was the type of person that Ben had always admired. “How about yours?”

Bill opened his mouth, words dying at the tip of his tongue before he shrugged with a soft squeak. “As good as I c-can be. I mean, how gre-a-at can I be in Grade twelve?”

“Touché.” Ben chuckled as he leaned back in his hair, his shoulders slumping with relaxation. He folded his arms over his chest as Bill dropped his arm to rest on the desk. A comfortable silence fell over the pair as Bill pulled the notes closer to him, quickly looking at it once again.

“Hey,” Bill spoke, his voice higher with a touch of laughter. “So you know how you wrote that Gatsby nearly fell down a flight of st-stairs over Daisy?” Ben nodded, eyes narrowed with confusion over where Bill was taking this.

“I actually _did_.” Ben made a noise that sounded like a stifled snort as he stared at Bill with wide eyes, waiting for an explanation. Bill just chuckled at the memory before beginning to explain.

“Okay, so, even my best friend-” Bill nodded in Stan's direction. “- doesn’t know this. He thinks I just fell ‘cause I'm clumsy. But it was back in tenth grade when I was in theatre. I needed it for some extra credit but this person that I liked was there. And they were o-on the stage.” Bill faltered off, his cheeks tinting a rosy colour as the memory rolled along in his mind. He could still see the stage, dimmed lighting faintly lighting up the faces of the actors and actresses. He was standing off to the side, head tilted as he stared at a young actress who spoke with a gentle voice that was rough with the copious amounts of cigarettes. “And I was off to the s-side. I was too busy staring at them that I completely forgot I was at the top of the s-stage steps and I just-”

“That was you?” Ben asked in a shrill voice, his lower lip bitten to keep him from bursting out in laughter. Bill nodded, chuckling lightly again and leaning closer to Ben to read his lips and watch his reaction. Ben was covering his mouth as his shoulders shook slightly, a clear sign of his trying to stifle his laugh. Bill laughed, running his hand over his face in slight embarrassment before continuing.

“I landed on my ass and I'm pre-pretty sure there was a loss of dignity..” Ben smiled softly, his grin filled with pity. “I was fine! Just really stuh-st-stars-struk!”

“I worked on the newspaper, I watched you fall but I didn't know who it was,” Ben remembered the urge to rush and help Bill and see if he was okay but the teacher next to him wouldn't let him go. He explained the circumstance to Bill but the other boy just shrugged in response, an amused grin still on his face.

“No broken bones, just a bruised ego and a bloody nose.” Bill didn't notice the way his stutter slowly dissipated, the conversation with Ben capturing all of his attention. It was strange - his stutter functioned off his stressed thoughts and his stressed thoughts only came when he thought about his speech impediment. Ben pulled out his cell phone and Bill noticed the immediate drop of his smile, a darkened expression overtaking his features.

“Just my ma,” Ben explained, forcing a smile onto his face. “She just wants me home as soon as the bell rings.”

“What about last period?” Bill asked, nose scrunched up in confusion. His mouth hung open before clamping it shut. He thought of all the times that his parents forced him to leave school just to take care of George, a role that Bill better suited. Ben shrugged, the smile still on his face.

“She's sick.” Bill went to apologize - to give his sympathy but Ben shook his head before Bill could say anything. “She's been sick for a long time. It's okay.”

“I hope she gets better.” Ben didn't respond right away - just stared at Bill with a look that transcended Bill's comprehension. Bill watched as Bill glanced down at his notebook, his mouth opening to speak. His words were cut off by the loud ring of the bell but Bill could have sworn he saw Ben say, with the most defeated look possible, “Me too.”

Stan quickly appeared at Bill’s side with his hands curled around the strap of his bag, staring up at Bill with wide eyes. Bill stared at him in a suspicious manner for a bit before shrugging it off.

“Shall we go?” Stan asked quickly, glancing over at Richie with a narrowed glare before turning back towards Bill with a bright smile. Bill looked over at Richie in confusion, his eyes lingering between the two people before he felt Stan’s fingers tap against the side of his jaw.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Stan’s voice was firm and clear, telling Bill just about everything he needed to know regarding the strange behaviour. Stan had a specific manner of speaking, especially when it came to Bill. Despite Bill’s inability to fully distinguish between tones, all he had to do was listen for the level that Stan was speaking at and the facial expression that Stan wore in order to understand completely.

“See you around, Bill?” Ben asked quietly, almost impossible for Bill to hear. He caught the words by Stan nodding in Ben’s direction and assuming what Ben was saying simply by context and where he was standing.

“Take care, Benny-Boy!” Bill called out, louder than he necessarily needed to but the grin that appeared on Ben’s face was more than enough reassurance that he was okay - that he wasn’t overbearing or being annoying. Bill grinned at the sight of Ben walking away with a slight skip in his walk, before turning back to Stan.

“You okay?” Bill asked quietly, just barely above a whisper. He didn’t hear himself say it but he could sense he said it just loud enough for Stan - and only Stan - to catch on. Stan hummed in response, nodding his head and slowly beginning to walk away. Bill just stared at Stan’s back momentarily, confusion filling his thoughts before hearing Stan call for him loudly.

Although not unusual, Stan’s behaviour was a little too off for Bill’s liking; as if there was something that he didn’t know was going on and he was left out of the loop once again.

And it wasn’t usual of Stan to leave him out of the loop.


End file.
